


Vows

by ikkiM



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon Continuation, F/M, Mikki Writes Canon, The Bang That was Promised
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-02
Updated: 2016-10-02
Packaged: 2018-08-19 03:19:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8187593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ikkiM/pseuds/ikkiM
Summary: The Long Night is over and Brienne travels south.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [QuizzicalQuinnia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuizzicalQuinnia/gifts).



> This fic is for QuizzicalQuinnia although she already read and beta-ed it for me. She organized the entire JB week, all while writing a brilliant piece, [Madonna of the Balcony](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8136329/chapters/18650153). I cannot think her enough for the time and effort she puts into this fandom, and puts into me. Thank you Quinn.
> 
> And thank you all for an amazing JB Week.

Brienne sighed as she made her way through the camp, which seemed to shrink a little every day, and headed back towards her tent. The Long Night was over, the Others defeated and each day they were gifted a little more sun. She was traveling back South and eventually home to Tarth, leaving the various survivors to find their homes along the way. More had survived than she’d expected.

In the darkest moments, she hadn’t expected anyone to leave the North alive, let alone herself. Just before that final battle, Oathkeeper clutched in her hand, Jaime Lannister had kissed her for the last time. He’d made a vow then, one he knew he wouldn’t be expected to keep.

She could hear his words even now, “I swear to you, wench, that if we both survive this, I’m going to marry you.” He’d grasped her shoulders then and had shaken them, making her promise to live so they could wed. Jaime knew her so well. He knew she had been defeated. He knew she needed a reason to fight. He had given her that, and she would always be grateful.

When the Dragon Queen had fallen the moment the Night’s King was defeated, Jaime had gone to comfort his brother in loss rather than celebrate with Brienne in victory. She hadn’t had a moment alone with him since. Tyrion had insisted that Queen Daenerys be returned to Valyria. The last Brienne had seen of Jaime was as he waved to her from the back of one of the beasts that had held the wights before securing himself by wrapping his arms around his brother.

That had been two moons ago. Enough time for her wounds to heal and new scars to form. Enough time for the dragons to leave their riders in King’s Landing and take their mother home, never to return. Enough time for word to come from the Dragon King of the North that he would only rule until each of the Seven Kingdoms could choose its own leader and for the boundaries of each kingdom to be settled.

Brienne had no doubt that Jaime would be chosen King of the Westerlands. Brienne would meet with the remaining Storm Lords before the year ended. Bran Stark had told her to put her name forward as ruler, that she had not yet fulfilled her destiny, that she would be the link of East and West. Brienne shook her head. She could lead men into battle, but she could not rule.

As she neared her tent, she saw Ser Bronn open the flap and exit. She called out to him and he walked towards her. She was grateful to him for the care he had provided her on this journey. She was certain Jaime had asked him to look out for her, ensuring she had a private tent and a real bed each time they camped. She remembered her time camping with Podrick on bedrolls under the stars. They’d lost him soon after the Long Night fell. They’d lost so many.

 _Sansa_.

She pushed the thought from her head. It did no good to dwell.

Ser Bronn swept into a low bow as she approached him. “My lady,” he said.

She rolled her eyes at his ridiculous formality, but he always liked a laugh. She played along and returned his bow. “My lord,” she responded.

Bronn hooked his thumbs in his belt and grinned at her. “We gathered a few more to travel with us while you were on patrol.”

Brienne glanced around the camp. They were constantly acquiring and losing travelers on their slow journey South. “Are they to be trusted?” she asked.

Bronn nodded, a wicked smile on his face. Brienne thought that it must be a new group of women, pretty ones if the look on Bronn’s face was any indication.

With a knowing smile, she suggested he be the one to meet with them.

“I already have, my lady. I already have,” he answered, and with a whistle, sauntered back to his own tent.

Brienne opened the flap to her temporary abode and entered, thankful that Bronn had lit candles for her and there was a basin of fresh warm water. She pulled the tie from her hair and combed the thin brittle strands with her fingers. She began to loosen her armor as a sound floated from her bed. She closed her eyes, thinking it a memory. Then she heard it again, a distinct and familiar snore.

She turned to look. Jaime Lannister was asleep in her bed. She blinked, and her breastplate slipped from her hands, crashing to the floor.

The noise woke Jaime. He sat straight up in her bed, bare-chested, his hand grasping in the covers as if searching for his sword.

“Jaime?” she said, still uncertain if he were real.

He turned to her, focused and smiling. His eyes traveled from her head to her booted feet and back up again, seeming to drink her in. “Where have you been? I’ve been waiting for hours.” He stretched his arms over his head, and she couldn’t help but watch as the candlelight played over his golden skin. He settled back in bed, turning on one side to prop his head up on his stump and smiling at her lazily.

“I was out on patrol,” she answered, feeling the heat rush to her face. She knew he didn’t truly care what she’d been doing. He was just putting her on the defensive. She began to remove the rest of her armor, noticing the pile of dirty boots and Lannister armor in the corner, his gambeson, and his tunic piled atop. “What are you doing sleeping in my bed?”

He yawned and reached for a peach from the bowl beside the table. “Waiting for you, of course.”

She ignored his non-answer, too taken by the sight of fresh food. She walked over and took one in her hand, tracing a finger lightly over its fuzzy skin. “How did you manage to find fruit?”

“The Long Night is over, my lady. Spring has come, and with it, supplies from Essos.” He took a noisy bite of his peach. She thought of scolding him, but too many moons of thin stew and measly gruel filled her head. She took a bite of the fruit. It was slightly over ripe, but it was the best thing she’d eaten in almost a year. She finished it without another word, the juice dribbling down her chin, her eyes closed in delight.

Jaime cleared his throat and she looked down at him, his peach half-eaten, his eyes slightly hooded. Not letting herself linger on the sight of his bare chest, she moved to the basin and began to wash.

She returned to her questions as she dipped her sticky hands into the cooling water. “Why are you here, Jaime? Shouldn’t you be in King’s Landing? Or the Westerlands?”

His answer was garbled around a mouthful of fruit.

She finished her quick wash and turned to him, only to find his back propped against the pillows now, licking the peach juice from his fingers. He looked stronger and healthier than he had when she’d last seen him. His hair was cut. His full beard replaced by two days growth of stubble. He looked well-fed and golden.

She asked a second time, “Try that again, this time not while eating.” She sat down on a chair and began to remove her boots. “Why are you here?”

Jaime spoke from the bed, “I had things to attend to, wench. An oath I need to keep.” He leaned forward, his eyes dark. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten.”

Brienne didn’t answer. She hadn’t forgotten anything about Jaime. She hadn’t forgotten sharing tents and bedrolls, holding each other for warmth, stolen kisses and stolen caresses in the dark. _Always in the dark._

“Wench?” Jaime’s voice broke her reverie.

“What?” she responded, feeling the weariness in her voice.

Jaime sat up in bed and swung his legs over the side to sit facing her. She stared for a moment at his bare feet. Less embarrassing than staring at his bare chest.

“ _Have_ you forgotten?” he asked.

Brienne sighed. “I’m sure I’ve forgotten many things. And I’m sure I’d remember more if I could get some rest.” She looked pointedly at her bed.

Jaime shifted to one side and patted the covers. “We’ve shared before. Come, wench. Settle your weary bones beside me.”

It had been so long since she’d seen him, felt the warmth of him, smelled him. The temptation was too much and she found herself sitting on her bed next to him, comfortable and familiar. She hadn’t talked to him, not really, since that last battle. There had been no moments alone. She bumped her shoulder against his and smiled, just a little.

“Jaime, we fought undead things and survived.”

He bumped back. “We saw dragons.”

She grinned then, “You _rode_ a dragon.”

Jaime snorted, “Smelly scaly terrifying beasts. Hopefully they’ve gone back to Valyria to die.”

She grew silent then, “How is Tyrion?” The smaller man had been wracked with grief when she’d last seen him.

Jaime sighed. “He’ll survive. We all will. I am trying to convince him to put himself forward to rule the Westerlands, but he wants to stay in King’s Landing.”

Brienne’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “But I thought you would lead the Westerlands? Shouldn’t you be meeting with that council soon?”

Jaime’s arm snaked around her waist and he rested his chin on her shoulder, looking up at her. “I told them I had other things to settle first. I’m a Lannister. They’ll wait for me.”

She snorted. Of course they would. No matter how few Lannisters remained, and even if their gold mines ran dry, he was still Jaime Lannister, Kingslayer, Defender of the Realm, Champion of the Starks, a born leader of men. She looked down at her feet, noticing her big, callused toe sticking from a hole in her sock. She flexed it. “And what brought you here then?”

He grinned at her. “Honor, of course.”

Brienne tapped her head against his. “How that horse managed to survive…” She let her voice trail off, not letting herself think of those who hadn’t.

Jaime’s large warm hand covered hers, now serious. “Not just my horse. I made a vow and I intend to keep it.” She felt his nose nuzzling against her neck.

Her breath hitched. “Jaime, things were different during the war. Things were done, things were said一”

Jaime reared back. “Are you denying what is between us?” he growled.

She bit her lip and stared at his hand on hers. “I’m saying that I’ll not hold you to a promise made before battle.”

His fingers tightened. “You’ll not hold me to my promise?”

“Jaime, I just mean一” she tried to explain.

“Are you the same Brienne of Tarth that nagged me about keeping my oaths, from Riverrun to King’s Landing back to the Riverlands, across to the Vale and then North?” he asked with a single brow raised.

“This was a different sort of promise, not a real一”

“My, my, my. Listen to the Maid of Tarth, deciding some vows are real vows and some are not. How you’ve changed,” he said, his voice thick with sarcasm.

She inhaled, wondering how their moment of camaraderie had turned into this, her speechless and him acting the Kingslayer. She tried to explain a third time, but he didn’t allow her to do more than part her lips before he interrupted.

“You _are_ still a maid?” he asked in his familiar, flippant way.

She spluttered at the shock of the question. It wasn’t the first time he’d asked. She remembered the bear pit. A lifetime ago. He knew her so much better now. She turned to him. “Why would you ask me that?”

He shifted on the bed to lean back against the pillows, angling himself to her. “I left you unprotected in the North. Did that Wildling try to steal you? Did you let him?” His eyes glittered with something she didn’t understand. “Is that why you’re trying to refuse me?”

“No one _stole_ me. Why would anyone even try? I’m not a possession to be _stolen_ ,” she huffed.

“Answer the question then, you _are_ still a maiden? Nothing _happened_ to you while I was gone? Bronn was to make sure of it.”

Brienne growled, “I can care for myself. I don’t need _Bronn_ to fight my battles. And nothing _happened_ to me with a Wildling or anyone else.”

The tension seemed to leave his body then. He smiled his lazy golden smile at her. “Oh good. I only marry maidens.”

Brienne just stared at him, searching for mockery in his eyes. She knew him so well. She saw arrogance, bravado, and a perhaps a little fear. He would marry her just to prove he still kept oaths.

She felt her shoulders slump as she drew into herself. “I know what I was like at the end, Jaime. I was defeated, ready to die.” She looked up at him to make sure he understood. “You gave me hope then, a reason to live. I know you think you owed me.” She motioned to his stump. “Consider it a debt paid.” She nodded.

“Gods, you’re stupid,” he huffed.

She drew back angrily.

He rushed on despite her grimace. “I didn’t ask for your hand to give _you_ a reason to live. I asked to give _me_ a reason to live,” he huffed. “I _want_ you. I’ve wanted you since I first heard you droning on about oaths and honor and knightly vows. It just took me a while to see it.” His eyes roamed her face, as if searching for her answer.

She furrowed her brow. “I know you care for me, Jaime. And I know you’d wed me just because you promised, but you needn’t. I know you don’t mean it.”

He sat up straighter. “I’ve delayed the council of the Westerlands, sent word to the Storm Lords to wait for our arrival, and I’ve dragged that poor septon all the way from the Quiet Isle just so I can marry you. Of course I mean it.”

She tried to register what he was saying, but could only grasp what was most easily understood. “Elder Brother is here?” she asked.

“He is. I’ve had to listen to him the whole way telling me of your _soft heart_ and  _worthiness_. As if I hadn’t seen your honor long before you’d met the man,” Jaime scoffed.

Elder Brother had survived. She felt a warmth at the knowledge. He was a good man and he had been kind to her. He had listened to her. And now he had come to her, with Jaime. She tried to organize her thoughts.

“You brought Elder Brother here just to marry us?”

Jaime crossed his arms over his chest. “I did. Why else would I bring him here?”

“But Jaime, don’t you want to make alliances in the Westerlands?”

He rolled his eyes at her. “The lords of the Westerlands can go fuck themselves. I’ve given enough of my flesh to secure this realm. I’ll not give my soul as well. I’ll marry whomever I damn well please.”

The arrogant pout in his voice struck her funny and she wanted to grin but couldn’t quite manage. “So you’d marry me to spite them?”

He huffed out a laugh and worked his way closer to her, swinging one leg onto her lap and anchoring the other behind her, pressing his bare chest into her shoulder, caging her with his body. “I would marry you because it would please me.” He nuzzled his face into her neck.

She leaned slightly into him despite the tension still lingering in her muscles. “Surely you would want another. A一a woman who could keep your house and will give you sons.”

“Fuck my house and every servant inside. I want a wife who can wield a sword and protect me when I cannot protect myself. Not some whinging milksop. I want you, Brienne. I’ll marry no other.” He whispered the last against her neck.

She rested her hand on his forearm and felt his lips on her skin. She’d felt his soft kisses before, but only when they were cold and afraid. It was different in the warmth. _And in the light_. She caught her breath and held it, staring again at her bare toe. “Is that truly what you want?”

His hand slipped under her tunic then and he pulled her closer. She felt his hardness against her hip. “Yes, you stupid stubborn cow. I want you and only you.”

She turned her face to him, perhaps to question him, perhaps just to look into his eyes, and he startled her with a kiss. His lips gently brushed against hers, testing her. She held herself still for a moment then hesitantly moved against him, twisting and shifting to wrap an arm around his waist. He pulled her closer and his tongue traced the seam of her lips asking for permission.

It was only natural that she grant it. His tongue was in her mouth then, exploring and teasing, hot and thick. She tried her best to match his onslaught. His hand was roving across her back and waist. His stump was tracing circles on her thigh. He was pulling her closer. She was twisted and tangled when he pulled back from her.

He looked into her eyes. “So, you will marry me then?”

All the questions about Tarth and the Westerlands and the councils and the future of Westeros suddenly didn’t matter. This was Jaime. She gave him a single nod.

A grin broke out across his face and he pressed his lips to hers as if sealing a bargain. He pulled back again. “So we should send for Elder Brother?” She let her hand find its way to his ribs, enjoying the feel of his warm golden skin, rubbing in small circles.

Jaime. As unbelievable as it seemed, she was going to marry _Jaime_.

He leaned in for another kiss, this one leaving her confused and breathless. His hand slid up between her shoulder blades, taking her tunic with it. He whispered in her ear. “Or not? We’re practically married already, and I’m not sure I can wait.” He used his stump to pull her against him, his hardness digging into her hip. “All those prayers and then the congratulations. They’ll probably want to hold a feast in our honor. It will be hours before I have you alone again.”

“Horrors, a feast,” she responded, feeling lighter than she had in years.

“And they’ll make you wear a dress, I’m sure of it.”

That _was_ a horror and she was about to refuse as he nipped at her neck, causing her to shiver. “Jaime,” she moaned.

“I’ve worked so hard to get you; if I leave you alone you might change your mind.”

She reached up to run her fingers through his hair. “I won’t. I swear it.”

She felt him smile against her skin. “A vow? Did you just make a vow to me?”

Brienne nodded, still a bit overcome with the feel of Jaime surrounding her.

“My Oathkeeper,” he whispered in her ear. “I could go get that rosewater septon and send in Bronn to fix your hair.” His hand roamed over her back and his stump found its way to the bare skin of her stomach. “Or we could have the bedding first and the wedding tomorrow.”

Brienne couldn’t say she’d never thought of marrying Jaime, but she’d always pushed the thought from her mind as a foolish dream. Now that she was faced with the immediate possibility, the actual marriage didn’t seem quite as important as it once had. She was his. She had always been his.

She pulled back and turned her face to his, and with a slight grin, answered, “We could. And I would. But then I wouldn’t be a maiden. Jaime. And you only marry maidens.”

He leaned in for a kiss, “You’ll always be my Maid of Tarth, although, if you’re _willing_ , I’d be glad to thoroughly ruin you before the sun rises and marry you tomorrow.”

In answer, she pressed her lips to his. For a moment, it was the kind of kiss every maid dreamed of, a handsome knight, his lips soft and warm. Then he was gone and before she could open her eyes, she was turned and flipped on her back and Jaime was above her.

He smoothed the hair back from her forehead. “Are you certain, Brienne? You are highborn, and I am a notorious oathbreaker. It would be wiser to wait.”

His argument might have been more persuasive if he weren’t punctuating each word with a kiss and nip to her jaw and neck.

She made sure there was no hesitation in her voice, “I am certain.”

She felt the chuckle rumbling through his chest. He reached down and tugged at her shirt. “Father, Smith, Warrior,” he began, as he pulled her shirt over her head. “Say it with me.”

“Father, Smith, Warrior,” she repeated, as he first unlaced and then pulled down his breeches.

They spoke together, “Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger.”

He reached down and tugged at her breeches and small clothes. She lifted her hips off the bed so he could slide them down her legs.

“I am yours, and you are mine. From this day until the end of my days.”

As they finished the words, he looked at her naked form. She squirmed and felt a flush spread over her skin. She reached to pull him down on top of her.

“Not yet,” he said, resisting. “I’ve dreamed of you naked so many times. I can’t resist looking at the real thing.”

“You dreamed of me naked?” she asked, trying not to tremble and hide under his scrutiny.

He nodded, his eyes traveling over her scars, her breasts, her stomach, her legs and back up again. “In fact, I think I’ve only ever dreamed of you naked.”

She furrowed her brow, “But when you came back for me at Harrenhal, you said it was because you’d dreamed of me then.”

His eyes met hers, dark and hooded. “I dreamed of you naked, with a sword in your hand, rescuing me, willing to fight for me.” He lowered himself to fit his body against hers, his hardness pressing at the juncture of her thighs.

She bent one leg at the knee, moving to cradle him with her hips. “Why would anyone sword fight naked?”

He laughed against her lips, “My ever practical Brienne.”

Then he kissed her again. She kissed him back with all the desire she felt for him. She stopped thinking about what was right or wrong and just enjoyed the feel of Jaime. She let her hands roam across his shoulders and down his back, stroking his hips before lightly gripping the muscles of his ass.

His mouth roamed over her neck and collarbone, lowering to take one small breast in his mouth.

She arched and gasped at the sensation, the heat of his mouth, his tongue laving her nipple as his hand came up to cup her other breast. She writhed beneath him, wanting to call out his name, wanting to wrap her legs around him and never let him go. She threaded her fingers through his hair and rocked her hips against him.

His mouth left her and she moaned at the loss of it. His hand reached down and stilled her hip. Panting into her neck, he grumbled, “You have to stop that or this will be over before it’s begun.”

She stilled beneath him, suddenly unsure.  “I’m sorry.” She pulled within herself and tried to flatten into the bed.

He tilted her head back and looked into her eyes. He kissed the tip of her nose and she blinked. “You didn’t do anything to apologize _for_ , you stupid woman. I’m a weak man who has wanted you for far too long.” With that he shifted his hips to rub his hard cock against her stomach.

“Oh,” she whispered.

“Oh,” he nodded. “Now let me love you.” He leaned down again for a kiss and she felt his fingers stroke her thigh, moving closer to between her legs. His fingers parted her folds and she gasped. He brushed his thumb across her nub and it was as if lightning had struck her. She groaned and gasped his shoulders.

“That’s it, Brienne, just let me love you.” His fingers worked her and she rocked against him, clinging and whispering his name. She felt one finger slowly slip inside her. The sensation was odd and pleasurable. She clenched around him.

“Easy. It’s all right. It’s supposed to feel good,” he whispered against her cheek before again capturing her lips.

She felt him moving inside her, stroking her. She was hot and itchy and flushed all over, needing something but unable to explain. She could hear incoherent mewling noises and realized it was her. Then there was more. He was stretching her, opening her and still stroking her. She spread her legs wider and wrapped one calf around his. “Please, Jaime, please,” she moaned, not even sure what she wanted.

His hand left her and she felt something larger, and harder at her entrance. She looked up at him. He kissed her softly. “It will hurt.”

She bit her lip and nodded, still confused by all she was feeling, wondering if this odd longing was the pain which Septa Roelle had warned her against.

He pushed further inside her and she felt a strange ache. She grimaced, and with a quick thrust, he was fully inside her. She gasped at the sudden intrusion into her body. This sensation was different from his fingers, and as the sharp pain faded, she was left with a mix of discomfort and need.

Jaime rested atop her, panting. He looked into her eyes. “Are you well?”

She wasn’t quite sure of the answer, but nodded. Jaime was _inside_ her, filling and stretching her. She tilted her hips and the sensation changed. He pulled back slightly and slowly filled her again. As he pressed into her, she felt a tingle down her leg. She gripped at his shoulders and moaned.

He moved again, pulling out slowly and then entering her again, and again, and again, until the pain was gone and she could no longer think.

She could hear him talking, calling her name, whispering words of love, his body telling her the same.  She felt a strangeness again, a need, a burning, a wanting. She wrapped her legs around his waist and made a strangled sound that might have been his name.

She could feel the muscles of his back clenching and straining beneath her hands. “Oh my wench,” she heard him say.

She felt his hand snake between them, and his fingers began working her as his thrusting increased. A sensation was building inside her. She felt as if she were racing towards something, something wonderful and new and terrifying.

And in an instant, she broke into a thousand pieces. Her eyes opened in shock and confusion, her mouth hanging open, guttural noises coming from her throat. She felt rather than heard Jaime chuckle before he inhaled and thrust inside her harder and deeper, somehow expanding before he shouted her name and collapsed atop her.

She smoothed her hands down Jaime’s back as his muscles relaxed. She sensed a strange stickiness between her thighs as she felt Jaime’s cock slip from inside her. He nuzzled into her neck. A thousand questions filled her head but her limbs and eyelids were heavy. Not as heavy as the man lying atop her. She shifted to her side. He chuckled at her actions but moved to lay beside her, tangling his arms and legs with hers. He kissed her again.

“About this marriage—” he began.

She lightly pinched the meat of his ribs, and he yelped.

“Just because I’m no longer a maid doesn’t mean you can forget your oath.”

He pulled her closer. “I was about to say the same thing.”

She’d kick him if she weren’t so comfortable. Instead, she yawned. “Good.” She reached down and pulled the blanket up to cover them, ready to settle in and leave the talk and septon ‘til morning. She closed her eyes and buried her face in the pillow, ready for a long night with Jaime’s arms around her.

Only he kept talking. “I was going to say we should talk about heirs. I’m think we’ll need at least three, but probably four to be safe. I’ve asked Elder Brother to add that to our vows.”

Her eyes popped open.

**Author's Note:**

> Just an aside, if you squint, you might be able to tell that my inspiration for this story was Goldilocks and the Three Bears. It just somehow took a turn towards canon and smut.
> 
> Constructive criticism is always welcome on my fic.
> 
> Thank you.


End file.
